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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930917">Pasta fazool</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol'>cigarettesandalcohol</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mafia (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>:')))), Caring, Depends on how you look at it, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Happy times, Injury Recovery, almost domestic fluff I would say, post-Trip to the Country</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, it was the doctor who saved him but Paulie - Paulie was there as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paulie Lombardo/Sam Trapani</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pasta fazool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I like to imagine Paulie's mom to be like Tommy's mom in "Goodfellas", being all nice and wanting him to marry a nice girl and settle down, haha ;) "Pasta fazool" is literally there only because I love Dean Martin and the song "That's Amore" where this meal is mentioned, and it's supposed to be a hearty, comfort food (it's actually called "pasta e fagioli" but you know how it goes with americanization).</p><p>@ AliNasweter: Myslím, že máme stejný myšlenky, nebo spíš že se chytáme stejných "zajímavých míst" ve hře. Když jsem ráno viděla, že je tvoje povídka taky post-Výlet do přírody, vyděsila jsem se, aby nebyla totožná s mojí, tak doufám že ne až tak moc, a jdu si jí konečně přečíst :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Paulie sat slumped in his chair in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall next to him with his head hanging down, presumably sleeping. His tie was undone and the sleeves of his shirt were covered with stains and spots, left there after the night adventure and its aftermath. There was something peaceful in the image of him sleeping, the only time when he wasn't running around like a headless chicken, causing alarm and talking, never shutting his goddamn trap - </p><p>Sam smothered a smile.</p><p>Paulie's gibberish blabbering saved him last night. It was the only thing he could remember, apart from the pain; however, the pain seemed to be dragging him into the cold and unwelcoming depths of the unknown while Paulie's voice, hoarse, dry, piercing and yet - familiar and soothing - was keeping him away from slipping under. "I can't promise miracles," the doc said, pale and distressed, looking at Paulie rather than at him before the operation even started. "Just save him, for God's sake!" Paulie said hastily, and he wasn't waving his gun and pointing it at the doctor as a threat; he was indeed pleading, without a threat of violence or revenge in case that the operation is unsuccessful or that he'd already lost too much blood. </p><p>The rest of the night was a blur. The ride back from the farm took forever and it was a turmoil of emotions and fireworks of colors, sounds, and flickering lights all around; he was holding onto the wooden parting of the truck body for deal life and felt the strength in his fingers die away as his breathing got more and more labored; and there was Tommy, uttering encouraging words while trying to deal with the cars on their tail; there was no time to lose for either of them. He couldn't see clearly; keeping his eyes open by force was wearing him out, and so hearing and touch became the only indicators he was able to follow with his fading consciousness, and the shrill screams of the police sirens, repetitive sound of the machine gun and screeching of tires became his only memory of the ride. He must have fainted a few times as the sounds appeared more clear and close at times and then got lost in the buzz echoing in his ears. He fully gained conscience to Tom slapping his face gently - "We made it, Sam!" - and he wanted to laugh bitterly - <em>You made it, not me, not yet</em> - but his body gave up on him again. He remembered that Tom left and Paulie stayed, helping the doctor drag him to the room where all the bloody business usually took place, and there they took off his coat and shirt; he recalled everything being stained and covered in blood around him, his clothes, his hands, the doc's and Paulie's hands as well, the chair and the bed as well, and that had to be when they lost him again for a moment. He woke up lying on a bed, or a table, or any kind of surface that he was too numb to think about, and the pain was coming back in waves as the doctor worked his magic. He wanted to scream and tried to do so only to feel a cloth pressed against his face, a cloth soaked in something he couldn't identify but what reminded him of very cheap alcohol. His pained screams came out only as muted huffs.</p><p>Paulie stood by the doctor's side, making himself useful by using one hand to hold Sam's shoulder in weak support while pressing the piece of cloth against Sam's face so the neighbors don't wake up to what would sound like manslaughter. "You'll be fine, Sammy - You're alright  - In good hands - " Paulie's voice was shaky but persuasive nonetheless as if he was speaking the words into existence. "You won't even know - you'll be sitting in a bar in no time - Getting the finest whiskey and the best broads - "</p><p>At any other time, he would have made Paulie shut up, tell him off or just plain ignore him but now, his words were reassurance. As long as he could hear them, he knew he was alive.</p><p>Paulie looked exhausted, although he had to have a good couple of hours of sleep on him as well as Sam; his dirty and stained clothes made him look like a surgeon himself, or more likely a butcher. Sam opened his mouth but no sound would come out; his throat felt very dry. He tried to move his fingers and toes instead and felt relieved when he felt the movement. There was something in his hand, a small object, he figured, with a string attached to it. He clutched it in his palm and tried to feel its shape.<em> A rosary</em>? Slowly, he held his hand up, just enough to take a look. <em>A rosary</em>. Someone must have given it to him, he surely didn't carry one around with him. It didn't look like Paulie either. The doctor would surely have more faith in his own skills and education than in some divine help. Maybe it was the doctor's wife? </p><p>"Sammy?" Before he could react, Paulie was on his feet. He made two leaps towards the bed.</p><p>Sam attempted to smile and say something but his throat was too dry to even let him say a word. Paulie understood.</p><p>"Doctor!" he shouted, running towards the door while keeping his eyes on Sam. "Doctor!" He flung the door open and ran out of the room. "Doctor - he's awake! He needs some water - "</p><p>The doctor came in within seconds, followed closely by Paulie who was carrying a glass of water. "Sam - good to see you like this. How are you feeling?"</p><p>He nodded, hoping his expression gives enough of an answer. After all the doc must have known how he might be feeling after such a night. Paulie brought the glass to Sam's lips and helped him tilt his head to take a sip.</p><p>"I see you made yourself at home, Paul - found the glasses and everything."</p><p>"I'm sorry, doc. He was thirsty."</p><p>Sam looked up at Paulie, thanking him wordlessly for his help. The water helped him clear his throat. "I'm better than I was," he said, laying his head back against the pillow. "Thank you so much for your help. The Don will be grateful, as always, for your services - as am I."</p><p>"Thank you," Paulie repeated as if his own personal gratefulness was different from the Don's and had to be given separately.</p><p>Sam tried to prop himself up on one elbow but his focused expression and furrowed eyebrows betrayed pain. "Don't worry, doctor. I'll get going as soon as possible. Don't wanna spend more minutes like a lazar." He opened his palm, showing them the rosary. "What is this about?"</p><p>The doctor looked puzzled but Paulie's lips curled up in a pleased smile. "It's mine." He covered Sam's open palm with his own, pressing the cross and the beads firmly against his skin. "I gave it to you to - keep you safe." The doctor's sneer wasn't very well hidden. "Not that I wouldn't trust the medicine," Paulie corrected himself. "But it's better - to have a backup plan - "</p><p>"He's been saying prayers I had no idea he knew," the doctor shook his head.</p><p>"It worked, didn't it?"</p><p>Sam let Paulie take the rosary from his hand and watched him bring the cross to his lips, mouth a silent prayer of gratitude, and kiss it before hiding the rosary in his pocket. "You carry that around all days?" He tried to remember any situation where Paulie would have a rosary or show knowledge of anything about religion and prayers, anything except "Amen" and taking the Lord's name in vain.</p><p>Paulie's face exuded pride taken in his own merits. "Ma gave it to me." He hesitated for a second. "It's good to have - to always be reminded of hope, against all the odds - "</p><p>Sam would normally sneer, shake his head, utter something about stupidity and superstition, and leave it be. Paulie - <em>of all people</em> - turned into a devout catholic while staying by his bed the whole night. There was a dull pain in his chest, more imaginary than related to the injury, and he wasn't able to say one derogatory thing about that. Of course, it was the doctor who saved him but Paulie - Paulie was there as well, with his diligent care and ready-to-help-anywhere attitude. He could imagine Paulie, exhausted and in his clothes covered in blood, kneeling by his bed with clasped hands, praying to the Mother of God, or whoever the hell he could be praying to for help.</p><p>He felt a lump in his throat.</p><p>The doctor left them alone before whispering something to Paulie, who just nodded and thanked him again while leading him to the door as if it was his house and his bedroom, not the doc's. He then returned to his chair and dragged it closer to the head of Sam's bed. "I'll get you home when you're ready. The doctor said you can stay today but - you know, his wife and kids - "</p><p>"Yeah, yeah - " Sam shifted a little, trying to sit up but when Paulie leaned in to help, he stopped him. "I'm not a cripple, I'll do it myself."</p><p>"You should be resting, for a couple of days - "</p><p>"You know it doesn't work like that."</p><p>"The Don will understand."</p><p>"Why is it always me? It's almost like I have a huge fucking target on my head."</p><p>"You're still lucky. Other guys ended up lying in the mud with their faces down yesterday."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"You're gonna be fine - I'll get you home. Got some books and magazines? I'll get you some if you want so you can rest - "</p><p>"Do I look like a guy who goes home to read some novels?"</p><p>"Yeah. You kind of do," Paulie smiled. "Don't worry, I'll sort it out."</p><p>"Jesus, Paulie, I'm not gonna be lying in no bed reading some stupid detective stories - "</p><p>"On Sunday," Paulie continued, unbothered by Sam's protests, "I want to do to see my Ma, she's gonna cook something special. I'll bring you something, some ragú, and ziti, you're gonna love it. Remember the pasta fazool? It's even better."</p><p>The lump in his throat was back as Paulie's cheery tirade went on. Paulie loved his mom, visited her often, and occasionally dragged his friends along for a Sunday lunch. Mrs. Lombardo always looked happy to have a table full of grateful diners, and she spoke in broken English, enriched with various Italian words whose meaning was lost on her visitors but her affection towards her son and his friends was still obvious. She looked proud of her son who was <em>somebody</em> and who, by all accounts, made it possible for her to live in a cozy two-room apartment with a nice view, where her children could visit her regularly. Only there Sam realized that Paulie must have siblings he never talked about, or rather, he mentioned them but never bothered to specify they were his brothers and sisters, and who the hell was supposed to know that <em>this Tony</em> is different from <em>the Tony</em> of their crew and that Maria, whom Paulie went to pick up once from the train station, wasn't some broad he met somewhere, but his sister? Sam never asked, and he assumed that even if Paulie had siblings, he wasn't very close to them, and they all had their own lives, probably outside of the city. Mrs. Lombardo occasionally mentioned some names but with her broken English, it was even harder to tell whether she was referring to a family friend, her neighbor, or a long lost daughter.</p><p>"Or you can come with me. You know that Ma loves you, she'd be happy to see you - "</p><p>"Jesus, no - <em>no</em>. Not in this state anyway - "</p><p>He never admitted that but although the lunches and dinners made him feel welcomed and they certainly were pleasant, they reminded him of what he never had. The food everyone around seemed to associate with childhood and the home was just a painful reminder of what he didn't have, as he had only a few memories of his family home and a plate of warm pasta fazool definitely wasn't one of them.</p><p>"She's not stupid, she knows our work is dangerous."</p><p>"I would rather not scare her. I'll keep my injuries to myself."</p><p>"Alright, <em>tough guy</em>. I'm still gonna get you the leftovers. You need to eat something."</p><p>It was always difficult to argue with Paulie. Once he made up his mind, he stuck to his ideas and followed them blindly when he believed they were right. Paulie had this stupid emotional urge to take care of someone; Sam didn't have anyone who would take care of him, and he never asked for that. They stuck together, thick as thieves.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>He meant it. For Sam, it wasn't just a rosary in hand, mumbled prayer for his healing, or an invitation for Sunday lunch; it was an unknown gesture of care and love.</p>
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